THE DCI BLIZZARD MURDER MYSTERIES: Books 1 to 3

by John Dean

  ‘Just examine the body,’ grunted Blizzard.

  ‘I understand he was found in the canal?’ said Reynolds.

  ‘Yeah. Some woman walking her dog spotted him floating face down.’

  ‘Not far from the raid this morning, I think.’

  ‘What the hell has that got to do with it?’

  ‘Well, I am just wondering if I should not be reporting to that nice DCI Talbot on this one,’ said Reynolds, straightening up, his examination complete. ‘I rather got the impression she was doing all your cases these days, Blizzard.’

  ‘She certainly is not!’

  Colley failed to restrain the chuckle as he noticed the mischievous twinkle in the pathologist’s eye. Blizzard turned and scowled at his friend who mouthed the word ‘sorry’ and tried to look serious.

  ‘Look,’ continued Blizzard, glaring at the pathologist, ‘I have had virtually no sleep and I really am not in the mood for your games. All I want to know is how he died.’

  ‘As far as I can see, the cause of Mr Lawson’s death was a blow to the back of the head. You can’t see it from there, it’s under the hairline. Probably happened shortly before he went into the water. Rather reminds me of the injury to Danny Galston, actually.’

  ‘So, are you saying the same person did it?’

  ‘It has always been my opinion that bashing a person’s brains out takes very little skill,’ said Reynolds, walking over to the sink. ‘Indeed, I imagine anyone is capable of doing it.’

  ‘Worth remembering that,’ said Blizzard darkly as he headed for the door.

  ‘Hey,’ said Reynolds. He turned round from scrubbing his hands. ‘If you’re finding this all a bit trying, you could always ask that nice Wendy Talbot to take over. I hear she’s very good. Came over very well on the television news as well, I thought.’

  The detectives could still hear the pathologist’s laughter as they walked down the corridor.

  * * *

  ‘Barry Lawson is dead,’ said Brauner flatly.

  Cara looked at him with a shocked expression. It was late-afternoon and he was standing in Cara Galston’s living room, surveying the battered and bruised widow. The house had been Brauner’s first call after being released by the police and, on arriving, he had made them both tea; even that had seemed beyond Cara as she sat on the sofa twisting and untwisting her necklace with a trembling hand.

  ‘How did he die?’ she asked eventually.

  ‘Someone dumped him in the canal. My money’s on Rowles. Presumably, Barry could not keep his mouth shut.’

  Cara said nothing.

  Chapter twenty

  ‘Look, I am not going to back down on this,’ said Wendy Talbot. ‘It is pointless you looking at me like that, Blizzard. We are going to handle the investigation into the death of Barry Lawson and that is that.’

  It was shortly before six that evening and the two officers were sitting in Arthur Ronald’s office. It had been a fractious meeting with Ronald struggling to keep order as the two detectives argued vehemently, the atmosphere not helped by Blizzard’s foul mood as fatigue took increasing hold of him.

  ‘I’m not backing down either,’ he said. ‘There is nothing to link Lawson with your gun-runners and you know it.’

  ‘We do not know any such thing at this stage. I mean, he did turn up in the canal near the depot.’

  ‘So did a couple of old boots and a sodding bedstead – you going to arrest them as well?’ snapped Blizzard.

  ‘I hardly think that kind of comment is…’

  ‘Please,’ said Ronald, holding up a hand. ‘Please.’

  ‘Perhaps if you head down to the river, you’ll find Ralph Cargill as well,’ said Blizzard, ignoring his friend, acutely conscious that he was ranting but too tired to restrain himself. ‘Hey, perhaps he’s still swimming. Maybe he’s reached France by now.’

  ‘For God’s sake!’ snapped Talbot. ‘Ralph Cargill…’

  ‘Ralph Cargill got out of the back of a depot you were supposed to have secured,’ said Blizzard. ‘And what is more…’

  ‘Alright, that’s enough,’ said Ronald loudly, glaring at both of them. ‘This is getting us nowhere. The only way round this is working together.’

  ‘With all due respect,’ said Talbot, ‘this is a Regional Organised Crime Unit inquiry.’

  ‘But it’s an inquiry in my patch,’ said Ronald. ‘And what’s more, no one had the decency to tell me about it for weeks, if you recall.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Blizzard. ‘You can’t investigate every bloody crime in this city, you know, Wendy.’

  ‘I’m happy to let CID handle whoever stole your bike,’ said Talbot with the merest of smiles.

  Blizzard looked at her balefully but said nothing; he was already embarrassed enough that news of the theft had leaked out. Colley, when confronted about it by his friend earlier in the day, had denied telling anyone about the theft and Blizzard now suspected the uniform constable to whom he submitted the formal report. Without any evidence to prove it, the chief inspector had satisfied himself with glowering at the young officer when he passed him in the corridor that afternoon. The PC had grinned, further increasing Blizzard’s bad mood.

  ‘So, what are you suggesting, Arthur?’ asked Talbot. ‘Because I am sure I do not have to remind you that when the Regional Organised Crime Unit come into an area on something like this, we assume the responsibility for handling…’

  ‘You can stop playing politics with me!’ snapped Ronald, surprising the others with his vehemence. ‘I’m not happy with the way they have behaved over this and the last thing I want is any more half-arsing about.’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘But nothing, Wendy. I hoped I would not have to do this but you leave me no option. I talked to our deputy chief constable an hour or so ago. I think you know him, he used to be a detective over Yorkshire way. In fact, I think I am right in saying he had a stint in the Regional Organised Crime Unit.’

  ‘I know Ken Bright,’ said Talbot bleakly. ‘Not exactly my favourite person.’

  ‘It seems to be mutual because Ken agreed that you should report to me on this one.’

  ‘Well, do not think for a minute that my chief super will go for any of this.’

  ‘Actually, he did. Did I mention that that he and Ken go back many years? Like I said, Wendy, don’t play politics with me.’

  Talbot stalked wordlessly from the room, brushing past Colley in the corridor, almost spilling the mugs of tea the sergeant was carrying.

  ‘Is “half-arsing about” an official management term now then?’ asked Blizzard.

  Ronald allowed himself a grin and Blizzard headed for his office to find Colley, sitting sipping his tea and reading the paper. Colley gestured to a mug on the chief inspector’s desk.

  ‘Might be getting a bit cold, mind,’ said the sergeant.

  ‘You’ll make someone a lovely wife.’

  ‘How did it go with our Wendy? She looked pretty angry. Will the cleaners be able to get the blood off Arthur’s wall, do you think?’

  ‘Might take a while,’ said Blizzard, sitting down and wincing slightly as his back gave the first twinge in a couple of days. ‘Anything new?’

  ‘Certainly is. I have just taken a call from someone at Brian Graham’s accountancy firm. Said they can keep silent no longer. Like I always say, follow the money and you can’t go far wrong.’

  * * *

  Half an hour later, the officers were sitting once more in the living room of Brian Graham’s plush west end home. It was another gloomy evening and the rain that had been squalling in off the river for much of the day was driving hard against the windows. The accountant was trying not to look worried but his unease showed through in the way he gripped the handle of his coffee mug a little too tightly. Blizzard and Colley exchanged glances and deliberately allowed the silence to lengthen, increasing the tension in the room. It was one of their favourite tricks for unsettling interviewees.

  ‘I see you raided th
e depot,’ said Graham.

  ‘Yes, we did,’ said Blizzard.

  ‘Is that why you are here?’

  ‘Actually, no. The sergeant here has unearthed something really interesting. Seems that you have not been telling us everything, Mr Graham.’

  ‘Now hang on a minute, I have been completely honest.’

  ‘I think not,’ said the chief inspector. ‘It may be time to tell us about Cara Galston’s business dealings. Or would you rather the good sergeant enlightens you?’

  ‘I have no idea what you mean.’

  ‘Ah, but I think you have,’ said Blizzard. ‘You see, when we talked to you last time, you omitted to mention that not only do you do accountancy work for GC Haulage but you also represent the widow Galston.’

  ‘Why on earth should that be relevant? She is just a client who…’

  ‘Who stands to inherit Danny’s half of the company, I think. Ten million-plus, if I am not mistaken. Is that not right, Sergeant?’

  ‘And that is a conservative estimate,’ said Colley.

  ‘That is confidential information!’ exclaimed Graham.

  ‘We tend not to do confidential,’ said Blizzard. ‘So, is it correct that Cara Galston has already asked you to sell her share of the company, presumably to Ralph Cargill? Perhaps Cara feels the money will help ease the grief of losing her husband in such tragic circumstances. What do you think, Sergeant?’

  ‘Got to help.’

  ‘Who told you about this?’ blustered Graham.

  ‘Someone with a damned sight more conscience than you,’ snapped Blizzard. ‘If Cara has tried to cash in on Danny’s death, some souls more cynical than our good selves may describe that as a pretty strong motive to kill her husband.’

  Graham looked at him in horror then the fight seemed to go out of him and he slumped back in his chair.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Yes, Cara does want to sell her share of the company and Ralph has first refusal. It felt wrong when she rang me and asked me to make the approach – Danny had only been dead less than 48 hours – but she was most insistent.’

  ‘So, does Ralph Cargill know about the offer yet?’ asked Blizzard.

  ‘I contacted him the same day. It’s no secret that Ralph always wanted to own the company. I imagine you’re going to call that motive as well, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘Frankly, Mr Graham, I am toying with drawing up a list of people who did not have reason to kill Danny Galston. It would probably be shorter.’

  ‘There were certainly plenty with little reason to like him.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘Half the hauliers in the city, for a start. I assume you know that GC Haulage was growing rapidly by taking over other companies?’

  ‘We had heard,’ said Colley. ‘It seems they were very successful in, how can we phrase it, persuading reluctant competitors to sell?’

  ‘Danny and Ralph certainly made plenty of enemies with the way they really screwed them into the ground,’ said Graham.

  ‘And if they tried to resist?’ asked Blizzard.

  ‘GC Haulage undercut them on contracts until they came crawling back. They were ruthless.’ Graham shook his head. ‘Absolutely ruthless.’

  ‘We’ll need names,’ said Blizzard.

  After a few more minutes talking, the detectives headed for the door. Brian Graham had a look of intense relief on his face as he ushered them into the hallway.

  ‘There was one more thing,’ said the sergeant as Graham opened the front door. ‘Does the name Emily Garbutt mean anything? She was an eight-year-old who died in a road accident 15 years ago.’

  ‘I know who she was.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Perhaps we had better sit down again, gentlemen,’ said Graham.

  They went back into the living room and Graham went into the kitchen to make a pot of tea. As the detectives sat and listened to the clink of crockery, Blizzard glanced at his sergeant.

  ‘How did you know it would have that kind of effect on him?’ asked the chief inspector.

  ‘One of my little hunches.’

  The officers looked over to the kitchen door to see Graham emerge with a tray. Once he had sat down in the armchair and poured their cups of tea, the accountant looked at the officers.

  ‘Have either of you got children?’ he asked.

  Colley shook his head but spotted Blizzard giving him a sideways glance. The sergeant frowned; he had suspected for a while that his friend knew Jay was pregnant.

  ‘Me neither,’ said Graham. ‘I love kids but Susan couldn’t, well, you know... couldn’t. It was always a great sadness to us.’

  He gazed down at the carpet for a moment.

  ‘I assume you know that the lorry that killed Emily Garbutt was driven by one of GC’s drivers,’ he said after a few moments.

  ‘Ray Heskey,’ said Colley. ‘The one whose gravestone was vandalised a few weeks ago.’

  ‘I still see Emily’s mother around the city,’ said Graham. ‘Poor woman. She was absolutely devastated by her daughter’s death.’

  He stared absently out of the window and silence settled on the room for a few moments.

  ‘This will sound a terrible thing to say,’ said Graham after a few moments, ‘but whenever I see Janice Garbutt, I say a silent prayer of thanks that I did not have children. I mean, to have to go through that. Does that sound heartless?’

  ‘If you never love, you can never lose,’ said Blizzard. ‘It seems a sad way to live your life, Mr Graham.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ murmured the accountant. ‘I suppose it is.’

  Colley said nothing. Somehow he could not summon the words.

  Chapter twenty-one

  The little tearoom not far from Abbey Road Police Station was all but deserted when John Blizzard arrived shortly after ten the following morning. Georgia Horwood, looking tired and anxious, was already there, dressed as primly as ever, her bony hand resting on the handle of a mug of tea. She seemed out of place. Georgia looked up as the chief inspector entered.

  ‘Refill?’ asked Blizzard.

  ‘No, thank you,’ she replied.

  She gripped the handle a little tighter as if he was about to snatch it from her. Blizzard walked up to the counter and returned a few moments later, clutching his own mug of steaming tea. Sitting down, he eyed Georgia with interest. She looked nervous and, as ever, there was that sense of secrets untold behind her troubled eyes. That her name had cropped up in their inquiries again was intriguing the chief inspector, but he said nothing for a second or two, preferring to take a sip of tea while he studied her. She looked out of the window, unwilling to meet his gaze.

  ‘Why am I here?’ she asked.

  ‘I want to talk about Emily Garbutt.’

  ‘That was 15 years ago.’

  ‘My sergeant came across your name in her case file. You seem to keep cropping up in our inquiries. You were a good friend of Emily’s mother, I think.’

  ‘I have not seen Janice for years.’

  ‘But you did know her once?’

  She nodded.

  ‘How?’ asked Blizzard.

  ‘I ran a playgroup at St Wilfred’s Church. Gave me something to do after my husband left me. Janice started bringing Emily.’ Georgia smiled at the memory. ‘She was a sparky little thing. Full of life. Such a tragedy when… well, I assume you know what happened to her.’

  ‘Yes, we do. When did you stop being friends with Janice? When Emily died?’

  ‘No, before that. Emily went to school and we sort of drifted apart like people do. I often think I should have kept in touch.’

  ‘You are not quite telling me all the story, though, are you? I’ve read the witness statement from you.’

  ‘I was driving not far behind when it happened. I was on my way to St Wilfred’s for the playgroup. Look, is this really relevant, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘Janice Garbutt laid a wreath at GH Haulage yesterday morning, just minutes before the police raid. That makes it releva
nt, Georgia.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Few people had a stronger reason to kill Danny Galston than Janice Garbutt. Tell me what happened that day.’

  Georgia stared out of the window for a moment or two at the pedestrians scurrying past to the nearby shops and the cars heading towards the nearby roundabout. For a moment, Blizzard wondered if she was going to stand up and walk out of the café but instead she turned back to look at him.

  ‘I shall never forget that day,’ she said softly. ‘It was foul weather, absolutely foul.’

  John Blizzard sat and listened quietly to the story unfolding through Georgia’s words, sometimes strong, sometime quavering, sometimes so quiet the chief inspector had to strain to hear them. As he listened, he was struck, as so often, by the way written statements came to life in the mouths of witnesses. Blizzard found himself forgetting he was in a café as he was transported back 15 years to 9.14am on a rainy day in 1981, Hafton brooding, as so often, beneath dark winter skies. For three days, the city had been living up to its reputation as one of the wettest places in northern England. It had been raining solid without a break and glum-faced pedestrians walking along the main road that morning, past the entrance to Hafton West Industrial Estate, sploshed through large puddles. A steady stream of cars and lorries drove towards the city centre, their paintwork gleaming with the incessant rain and windscreen wipers on full speed to cope with the spray thrown up from the deluged road.

  Among the scurrying pedestrians was eight-year-old Emily Garbutt, late for school. She was always late because her mother was so disorganised and morning in their house was always chaotic. It had not always been so. When Emily’s father was alive, he left for work at eight and always made sure that his daughter and wife were up and ready when he walked out of the house. But since his death from cancer at the age of 41, the household had descended into chaos and Janice Garbutt, struggling to cope and taking increasing amounts of sleeping pills, found each morning a battle.

  Inevitably on the morning of her death, Emily was rushing. Clutching her mother’s hand, she hurried along the main road, her hat pulled down around her ears and her knapsack sodden and growing heavier with every step. They were on the wrong side of the main road and needed to cross to reach the primary school in a side street not far from the industrial estate. Realising that, as usual, they had missed the crossing patrol man, they were teetering on the edge of a pavement, waiting for a break in the traffic, when, hidden from their sight round the corner, a lorry rumbled out of the GC Haulage depot, its driver rushing because he was late for the ferry.